Ordinary People
by Sierra Janeway
Summary: Career tribute Moriarty relishes his chance to enter the arena, knowing his superior mind leaves him very few real threats. But the seemingly ordinary, mousy little girl from District 8 catches his attention - there's something about her that he finds fascinating despite himself, and she just might keep these games from being boring. [[Hunger Games AU - Molliarty]]
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: All original characters and such belong to BBC._

**Summary: **Sherlock Hunger Games AU. Career tribute Moriarty relishes his chance to enter the arena, knowing his superior mind leaves him very few real threats. But the seemingly ordinary, mousy little girl from District 8 catches his attention - there's something about her that he finds fascinating despite himself, and she just might keep these games from being boring. ~ Sherlock Hunger Games AU. Molliarty.

**Chronology: **AU in the midst of the Games

**Pairings: **Molliarty

**Rating: **T because it's the Hunger Games

**Author's Note:** Okay, so I'm being ambitious. I haven't written anything but one-shots in a while and I have NO idea where this idea came from but it's been bothering me to be written so here we go. My first attempt at a crossover fic. Hope you enjoy.

**Ordinary People**

He blinked hard as the platform ascended and suddenly thrust him into the fierce sunlight. The light wasn't accompanied by warmth, however, and as he quickly took stock of his surroundings. Dirt mostly, and large boulders. But in the distance, he could see rusted hulking shapes, maybe old buildings. Potential shelter at any rate. He whipped his head back and forth, his mind buzzing in that bright, burning way he loved as he assessed every inch of the arena he could see, looking for every little thing that would give him an advantage. Of course, his own mind was his most serious advantage, he thought with a smirk. The others would miss half of the things that could keep them alive, or give them some sort of a tactical advantage, and succumb to any number of mistakes. A pity, really - he would likely kill far less of them himself than would be killed by nature and their own stupidity.

As he surveyed the barren rocky landscape and took quick stock of the contents of the cornucopia, he ignored the other tributes. He had done his analysis of them already, starting immediately with the coverage on Reaping Day and then intensifying during training and interviews. He had taken stock of every weakness and every advantage he could press, ranking them automatically in his mind, adjusting their rankings and his strategies as he obtained more information. He had a delightful little web spun in his head now, each thread with a generic title of gender and district and linked to each point of knowledge he possessed on them - connected further with his own skills and abilities and how he could tilt the odds in his favor. Which of them could be made into temporary allies, which ones could be manipulated, which ones could be dispatched of easily. The only real unknown factor had been the arena, and he had that now before him so that was where he focused. The tributes were a known quantity, not worthy of his attention for the moment as he waited for the countdown.

With one exception. Despite himself, he found his eyes sliding across the arena and resting briefly on the small hunched, shivering form of the female tribute from District 8. Even at this distance, he could see her eyes were red. Crying, again. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Nearly every time he'd seen her, she had been crying. The career tributes, such as himself, were pleased to finally get their chance to enter the arena. The rest of the tributes had been upset at first but mostly were just too shocked and scared and desperate to do much besides try to find a way to survive, to smile and play for the cameras, desperate for any sponsor they could attract. This girl had been silent as she wept, going through the motions stiffly. And normally he would have ignored her, marked her as an easy target should she get in the way, but otherwise marked her as insignificant. She didn't count.

Except...several times in the training facility, while whooping and hollering with his fellow careers as they slashed another dummy or sprang another nasty trap, he glanced around to see how their actions were affecting the psychological states of the other tributes. Most of them looked properly scared...but not this girl. She'd looked up at him for a fraction of a moment, something blank and strange and nameless in her gaze, before she looked away, staring into space as she ran through the plant identification simulator for the millionth time. It had confused him, and Moriarty was not a boy who was easily confused. Nor did he enjoy being confused. But this girl - when she wasn't crying, there was something strange about her, something that made him take a second glance even after he'd dismissed her as he did most of the non-career tributes.

He shook his head forcefully. It didn't matter. One odd tribute out of twenty-four. He braced himself on the platform, watching the numbers tick down, his strategy already forming. There were several weapons he had his eyes on, as well as a number of electronics that could be useful, especially if kept out of the hands of the District 3 tributes. A few other items appeared to be food or shelter supplies, he'd take a few if he could reach them. But those plans were on hold for the moment as the countdown reached one and a nasty grin cracked across his face and he leapt from the platform towards the cornucopia, scooping up a large rock from the ground as he did so and bashing in the skull of the boy from District 5 as he tried to go for the dagger Moriarty had his sights on. Then there was a female tribute trying to get her hands around his neck and he made quick work of her as well, snatching the dagger from her limp and bloodied hands, rolling out of the way of a gang of three tributes fighting over a backpack of supplies - soon to be two, he could hear one of them gurgling - and coming up just where he'd first spotted the electronics. He snatched a backpack, stabbed someone as they tried to sneak up to him, and stuffed the supplies into the bag, wiping his bloody hands down the front of the coveralls they'd handed out to all the tributes. He took another quick look around, smirking with pleasure at the sight of the carnage - he'd have to recalculate odds and threats once he was certain who all had been eliminated - and then bolted for the rocky hills and the rusty metal structures he had first spotted from the platform. He would figure out the most tactically advantageous shelter, await the cannon fire to reassess the situation, and begin laying out his plans accordingly. So brilliantly simple. These were games indeed. He laughed aloud.

But he stopped laughing suddenly when he became aware of another tribute in the rocky hills with him. He was on alert at first, but quickly relaxed when he saw it was the odd girl from eight. But he stopped running to take a closer look, once again finding himself confused and not liking it at all.

This girl was not running away from the bloodbath. She was standing, staring back at it, a tear slowly tracking its way down her dusty cheek. She wasn't trying to defend herself at all, and she'd taken only a tiny pouch from the cornucopia. She was watching the other tributes die, her eyes wet - was she _mourning_? She didn't even know them. Moriarty shook his head disdainfully. Stupid, weak little thing...

His mental barrage of her character stopped abruptly when he saw blood down the front of her own coveralls. There were no visible injuries on her. One corner of his mouth quirked up slowly. Well, well. Perhaps she had something useful after all. Why not shake the game up a bit? It would be more fun to win with an unknown variable, with something besides the almost-too-easy map in his head. Impulsively, he darted forward and grabbed her wrist, yanking her along with him as he started to run again.

He was pleased to look back and see the shocked look on her face. She was too stunned to even try to pull her hand away.

"Moriarty," he purred pleasantly. "Hi!"


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: All original characters and such belong to BBC._

**Summary: **Career tribute Moriarty relishes his chance to enter the arena, knowing his superior mind leaves him very few real threats. But the seemingly ordinary, mousy little girl from District 8 catches his attention - there's something about her that he finds fascinating despite himself, and she just might keep these games from being boring. ~ Sherlock Hunger Games AU. Molliarty.

**Chronology: **AU in the midst of the Games

**Pairings: **Molliarty

**Rating: **T because it's the Hunger Games

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for your kind and encouraging words! This is my first AU attempt, and my first multi-chapter fic in a long time, so your feedback is much appreciated. Sorry this one's a bit short, my brain wasn't cooperating as well as I'd hoped. Here's to a longer, more exciting chapter three.

**Ordinary People**

_Moriarty watched as the woman swirled her fingers delicately through the glass bowl, her spiky purple and blue suit reflecting off the orb and making her look like some kind of escaped sea creature. He stood at ease, just feeling the energy absolutely radiate off the rest of the crowd. They were all thirsty to fight, vibrating with pent-up physical aggression. He shook his head just slightly, a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. That was where they all fouled up, letting their bodies run away from their minds. Precision, control. They lacked it, he had it._

_ Which is why the smirk deepened but otherwise he did not react when the woman pulled the slip of paper from the bowl and carefully enunciated, "James Moriarty." Shouts and cheers went up around him and a few of his closer allies - Moriarty did not have friends - slapped him on the back and shoulders as he stepped forward, following the Peacekeepers to the stage. He smiled at the woman as he took his place next to the girl who'd been chosen, and to whom he'd paid very little attention. He wouldn't properly learn her name until they were halfway to the Capitol on the train. _

_ His goodbyes took almost no time at all. A few boys his own age stopped in to express their admiration and jealousy, but his family had been gone for years now. He offered thin smiles to his guests but made sure they knew not to linger. Not that the Peacekeepers would have let them anyway. He was coolly excited, hiding the little thrill behind an icy, tight-lipped smile. The Peacekeepers didn't have to show him the way to the train - he beat them there and boarded even before the escort, a woman called Deefara. _

_ He reclined in a large, wine-colored plush seat, sampling leisurely from the large spread laid out on the table for himself and the female tribute. He only half listened as Deefara spoke. He knew all this already. He'd been practicing for years, studying every moment of the footage, interviewing both the old and new District 2 victors. He'd gotten every last detail out of them, even the things others would find trivial - especially things others would find trivial. For there was an advantage to be wrought in every piece of information and he would find it when others wouldn't._

_ He leaned back in the chair and sipped delicately at a cup of tea, smiling to himself._

* * *

They kept running, dodging boulders, his hand still clamped around the startled girls' wrist. They had almost finished ascending a hill that would give them a better vantage point when the first cannon went off. The girl froze and Moriarty nearly tripped as she stopped. He was about to yell at her, but restrained himself as he listened, counting. The girl flinched a little with each blast. Nine in total, when they finally stopped.

"Not bad," he mused. "Could do with a few less survivors, but that would make this much less fun, wouldn't it?" He gave the girl a manic grin.

She stared back at him, her features frozen and stunned.

He tried to take off running again but she was dead weight, anchored to the ground.

"What's wrong with you?"

He whipped around to face her, curiosity raised by the first words he'd heard her utter. Her voice was deeper, less delicate than he had imagined, punctuated by small pants for air as she tried to catch her breath from running. He raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Whatever do you mean?"

Her soft brown eyes wide, she gestured with her whole arm at the carnage behind them. "They're dead! They're just kids, like us!"

He smiled knowingly. "There's no one like me, love."

The girl's face actually began showing signs of anger. That surprised him. She tried to wrest her arm away. "This is wrong," she said, shaking her head, her voice slowly beginning to climb in pitch.

He kept hold of her arm. "The games are what they are."

She didn't look at him, but started digging with her nails at his fingers that were still clamped around her forearm, occasionally glancing over her shoulder at the cornucopia.

He frowned, tightened his grip, and yanked on her arm so hard her whole body jumped towards him and she let out a yelp. He cupped her chin so she was forced to look at him. "Do you want to live?" he asked, his voice deep and slightly angry but barely a murmur.

He didn't wait for an answer, but took off running again, dragging her behind him.

She followed numbly, too exhausted and frightened to do anything else.

Moriarty finally crested the largest hill they'd been climbing, the District 8 girl's arm limp in his grip, and stopped to take in the view of the heart of the arena. The giant dark shapes they had seen from the cornucopia were finally clear.

Ships.

Or they had been, once upon a time. Because the soaring metal structures before them were rusty skeletons, leering where they sat half-consumed by patches of black mud. The rest of the ground was soft brown and dry, giant cracks spiderwebbing out like a dropped dish. The air smelled like dead fish and stagnant water and dust and steel all at once. It was a graveyard littered with the remnants of a long ago age, the ghosts of commerce.

"Oh, _lovely_," he breathed, pulling in the putrid air.

The girl was staring in shock at the scene, a hand cupped over her face in a futile attempt to block the smell.

"Oh now, come come," he chided, tugging her along. He grinned up at the structures, somewhat grudgingly admitting to himself that the gamemakers had done impressive work. "For the next day or so, this is home sweet home..."


End file.
